


Santazilla's Rush-Hour Crush

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Newspapers, Oblivious Arthur, Romance, Rush Hour Crush, Trains, Unseasonal Christmas Knitwear, commuting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 09:22:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8572945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: To relieve the tedium of Arthur's commute on the 7.23 from Camelot to Avalon (average score, five out of ten), he reads the daily "Rush Hour Crush" column. But it all gets a lot more interesting when one of the correspondents also catches Arthur's regular train. Can Arthur identify this mysterious guy with the ridiculous, out-of-season Christmas jumpers? And, more to the point, who is the object of his crush?





	

**Author's Note:**

> In dark times, we need the fluffiest fluff of great fluffiness. This fluffy little thing is inspired by the UK free paper Metro's daily "Rush Hour Crush" column. Not beta-ed. Sorry!  
> Disclaimer: Not my characters, I'm not getting paid.

Two things alleviated the daily misery of Arthur’s commute from Camelot to Avalon. First, the ability to eye up other commuters surreptitiously from behind his copy of Cameletro, the free daily local newspaper. And second, a quick peek at the _Rush Hour Crush_ column always made him smile. It ostensibly contained love letters from commuters all around Albion to their fellow travellers. Fellow romantics, hoping that the spark of recognition would flash and they would find True Love and HappinessTM.

Sometimes, in his darker moments, he wondered if any of the letters were real, if any genuine relationships were forged in this way. It seemed unlikely, somehow, that two people whose only area of common experience was a daily ordeal involving cramped conditions, a dodgy tannoy, and an unseemly squabble over the last remaining seat, could find love by reaching out to each other via the pages of the local free newspaper.  

But despite his scepticism, Arthur always allowed himself this daily indulgence for a few minutes. He enjoyed picturing the crushers and crushees, spending a few brief moments outside his own head, imagining their lives, their experience of being trapped on a train just like him, and finding their heart's desire in such a mundane setting. And then he would bow down to reality with a sigh, checking out work emails on his trusty iPhone.

Today’s commute, on a scale of one to ten, ranked at about a five. Although it arrived on time, the train was already full, meaning that Arthur had to stand all the way to Avalon. But on the plus side, the cute guy with the rosebud lips and scruffy beard got on board just behind him. Arthur had noticed the guy’s killer cheekbones before, and his shock of black hair that mussed up in all the right places.  

Their eyes met for a moment, and the guy smiled. Which was when Arthur noticed what he was wearing. A particularly lurid blue sweater, dominated by a large portrait of what looked like Godzilla... dressed as Santa Claus.

In April.

How odd.

Turning to take a thoughtful bite of his cinnamon roll, Arthur promptly bit his own lip, mis-timed his swallow, and started to choke. Hastily, he sipped at his coffee to suppress the spasms, face aflame, grateful for his noise-excluding headphones, which protected him from the chuckles of his fellow passengers.

Sighing, he turned to his emails.

 

 

 

 

~~~

It was a few days later (six out of ten - he got a seat, result! But it was right next to the loo, and smelt faintly of disinfectant), when he noticed a Rush-Hour Crush entry about his very own train: the 7.23 from Camelot to Avalon.

 

 

 

 

**Gorgeous blond bloke with the noise-excluding headphones and granite-hewn jaw on the 7.23 from Camelot to Avalon.** I checked you out. You choked on your cinnamon roll. If it happens again, I'm happy to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre on you any time. _Guy in the unseasonable Santazilla jumper (it's a long story)._  
  
**Sharp-elbowed harpy on the 7.38 from Camelot to Essetir.** I really like your black-and-purple polka-dot lipstick, torn clothes and creative hairstyle. You can passive-aggressive tut me and impale my feet with your needle-sharp stilettos again, any time you like. Or else shall we meet for dry-ice cocktails? _Blonde Goth (yes, it is possible to be blond and a Goth), with kohl and the ruby nose-ring_  
  
---  
  
Arthur snorted. After idly speculating about the harpy, subject of the second crush, and her uncanny resemblance to his sister, he returned his attention to the first.

How interesting. There couldn’t be many people out there wearing a sweater that could be described as Santazilla, let alone on this very same commuter service. Maybe this was the same guy that he'd noticed so many times before? He wondered who the lucky object of Santazilla’s crush could be. There must be hundreds of blond guys with noise excluding headphones on this train. But Santazilla had such plush, soft-looking lips. Arthur drifted off into fantasy for a moment, which is when he noticed that Santazilla himself was there again, sitting opposite him. Today his jumper was a little less exuberant, although if Arthur looked closely he could discern a pattern of interlocking snowflakes.

He snorted, before sighing and burying his nose in his iPhone. The Asian markets were going nuts today. Time to fire off a few quick messages to Leon before Pendragon Investments got too badly roasted.

 

 

 

 

~~~

Friday’s commute scored a three.

For a start off, it was raining. Not a gentle, sweet, replenishin rain, oh no. No, this was a miserable grey drizzle that leached all the colour from the world and seeped through the pores of his trench coat so that by the time he arrived on the platform he was shivering, his hair was plastered down across his forehead and the hem of his trousers was drenched.

Then there was the fact that he had a stinking hangover, thanks to his sister, Morgana’s poorly-timed existential crisis the previous night. Really, it was a bit inconsiderate to have an existential crisis on a Thursday. His head throbbed and his stomach was churning. Flashing lights at the periphery of his vision heralded the imminent arrival of a migraine, and the world swam in and out of focus.

And then, the icing on the cake, his usual train was cancelled. So everyone ended up milling about on the platform for twenty minutes waiting for the next one. He could have spent an extra twenty minutes in bed!

He pulled on his Ray-Ban Aviators to fend off the migraine, and scowled at anyone who gave him odd looks. If he wanted to wear sunglasses in the rain, he would bloody well wear sunglasses in the rain.

By the time the train arrived, hundreds of soggy passengers were already squeezed on from the previous stations, nose to armpit, bulging out through the doorways with their coats and their bags and their umbrellas, glaring daggers at anyone who tried to board the train at Camelot.

But there was one silver lining to this wretched pile of cumulonimbus. When he was queuing up for a decaff cappuccino, he ended up standing right behind Santazilla, who turned round and grinned sympathetically at Arthur, and then, as he left the coffee line, winked deliberately before putting up his umbrella. Which was shaped like a Christmas tree.

Who could he have been winking at? Arthur took advantage of his aviators to glance around the platform at the milling crowds. Over there was a very handsome-looking blond guy smiling at Santazilla. Come to mention it, there were about fifteen blond blokes swarming around him with earphones on, all of whom could be described as good looking. He sighed, wondering which of them, if any, was Santazilla’s crush.

When he finally squeezed onto the train, Arthur mouthed apologies to all his fellow passengers as he unravelled his damp copy of Cameletro, squinting to focus.

 

 

 

 

**Blonde Goth on the 7.38 from Camelot to Essetir.** In your dreams. _Harpy._  
  
**Gorgeous blond bloke with the noise-excluding headphones and granite-hewn jaw on the 7.23 from Camelot to Avalon.** I get sympathetic snogging rash just looking at your rugged chin. Coffee? _Guy in the unseasonable Christmas jumper (OK, all my other jumpers were in the wash. Not that long a story)._  
  
---  
  
He smiled and looked up, wondering where Santazilla and his milling crushes had gone, but they must have boarded in another carriage. Smile fading in his disappointment, he sighed and turned his attention back to his iPhone.

Definitely a three out of ten commute, today.

 

 

 

 

~~~

When Arthur was a little boy, he had a nanny who was into needlework, and together they had made a legion of dragons out of felt, dragons that they had stuffed full of some fluffy material that he didn’t know the name for. Well, today his head felt thick, as if someone had stuffed it full just like the dragons, and he wanted nothing so much as to go and curl up on his bed with a belly full of Lemsip and one of his dragons clutched to his breast. But, no. His father had insisted that he should be in the office, even though his eyes were watering and he could barely speak and he couldn’t breathe without his chest being wracked by hacking coughs that no doubt were infecting all the other people in this carriage. He closed his eyes against their disapproving stares.

So wrapped in his misery was he, that at first he did not even register that Santazilla had sat down opposite him until he blinked, and got an eyeful of the inventive knitwear du jour. But what an eyecatching confection it was. A reindeer, bursting forth from Santazilla’s stomach, red nose and antlers and all. Arthur spared a moment to admire the needlework, his nanny would have been proud. He smiled at the thought. When he looked up, gaze drifting past merry lips, sharply cut cheekbones, meeting sparkling blue eyes, he was still grinning like a loon. Their eyes locked. All he’d done was look, but the sensation of being caught made a blush steal up his neck and across his cheeks. He cleared his throat to cover his confusion, forgetting how much it hurt, and next thing he knew he was coughing horribly into a manky old tissue that he fished out of the pocket of his trench coat.

After the spasm had passed, he hastily erected the newspaper as a screen, hiding his embarrassment. Santazilla had posted in Rush Hour Crush again!

 

 

 

 

**Blond guy with the aviator sunglasses and noise-excluding headphones on the 7.23 from Camelot to Avalon.** It may have been cold, wet, weather, but your mirror shades did nothing to hide how hot you are. I’ll get your decaff cappuccino for you any time. _Guy with the Christmas Tree Umbrella._  
  
**Harpy on the 7.38.** Despite your earlier rebuff, I can't resist your haughty glare and your flawless skin. I had to try one more time. When you scowled at me and flashed those green eyes, my heart melted. Share your mascara secrets with me? _Blonde Goth with the kohl._  
  
---  
  
That was it. The Christmas Tree Umbrella thing settled it. Santazilla was definitely rush hour crush guy, and there was no way that Arthur was the only one who had worked it out. He’d seen all those other blond blokes last week. There was definitely a bit of a Santazilla cult developing on this train. Arthur frowned, trying to remember which of the myriad earphoned guys he’d spotted last week had also been wearing sunglasses. Failing, he sighed and closed his eyes to nap.

The weather was fine today, and he had a seat, and the train was on time. But he felt lousy, and there was a strange tension in his chest whenever he thought about Santazilla and handsome blond guys. So, today got a four out of ten.

 

 

 

 

~~~

By the time the following week came round, it was time to prepare for the annual Pendragon Inc. conference. The next few days flew past in a blur of presentations, early morning calls and late-night exhaustion. What with one thing and another, Arthur didn’t really have time to look round for Santazilla, nor the object of Santazilla’s crush. At least that's what he told himself. And if he was protecting himself from the stab of jealousy that flared up whenever he thought about Santazilla's crush, well, that was no-one's business but his own. He deliberately kept his eyes down and his earphones up.

But he couldn't stop himself from reading the column every day. It was like a scab that he couldn't resist picking. He told himself that he was primarily interested in the train wreck - sorry, unfortunate phraseology, given current circumstances, call it a car crash - that was the whole Harpy / Goth saga, but wasn't fooled in the slightest. 

 

 

 

 

**Blonde Goth with the black kohl on the 7.38 from Camelot to Essetir.** Looks like Harpy isn't interested. Luckily for you, I am. Let me lick all that mascara off for you. _Gorgeous guy with long hair and tight leather trousers._  
  
**Oblivious prat with the noise-excluding headphones and kissable pout on the 7.23 from Camelot to Avalon.** You smiled at my unseasonal Christmas jumper. Again. Blushed a pretty shade of pink. And then coughed like a drain. Need someone to rub Menthol and Eucalyptus on your chest? _Guy with Alien-style reindeer jumper (I hope you notice me soon, I'm running out of knits)._  
  
---  
  
Well, that was a turn up for the books. It looked like Harpy had some competition.

But at least Santazilla's crush had a disgusting cold. He felt a stab of triumph at that, which he tried to disguise with a cough when Santazilla himself ascended the steep step from the platform onto the train. Which turned out to be a bad idea. First, he still hadn't quite recovered from his own illness, and so a deliberate cough quickly set him off again on less deliberate ones. He tried to tamp down the wheezing with a sip of his coffee, but that was when he spotted the design on Santazilla's Christmas jumper, which just set him off again, because, really, who would even knit a jumper with the snowman's prominent nose sticking out _down there_ , let alone wear the damn thing?

What with one thing and another, by the time he stopped laughing, Arthur's trousers were coated in tiny flecks of coffee, and it was all Santazilla's fault, but Santazilla smiled at him, and he did feel a lot better for the laugh.

So, on balance, seven out of ten. 

 

 

 

 

~~~

It was the day before the conference, and Arthur hadn't seen Santazilla for days. Perhaps the guy had given up on finding his crush, or more likely, given the time of year, he was on holiday. But he had taken time to write in, and legions of Santazilla admirers still crowded Arthur's carriage.

Not knowing which one was lucky enough to have attracted Santazilla's eye, he scowled at them all, just in case. Whoever it was, he hoped that they'd put poor Santazilla out of his misery soon.

 

 

 

 

**Arrogant weasel in tight leather trousers on the 7.38 from Camelot to Essetir.** You repulse us, yet we are strangely fascinated. Come to our dungeon? Bring eyeliner. _Harpy and Goth_  
  
  
**Unattainable Adonis with the noise-excluding headphones and snug-fitting trousers on the 7.23 from Camelot to Avalon.** You choked on your coffee when you saw the design on my unseasonal Christmas jumper. Fancy learning to knit with me? _Upside-down snowman guy (be nice, my friend knitted it in a hurry and it's not her fault that the carrot ended up_ down there _)._  
  
---  
  
It was close to a two out of ten, for the sheer drudgery alone, today. But the intriguing turn taken by the saga of Leathery, Harpy and Goth, plus the memory of that carrot, at least brought a small upwards twist to his lips. 

Two and a half, he thought, begrudgingly. 

 

 

 

 

~~~

 

On the Tuesday after the conference, he nearly missed his train altogether. It was all Morgana’s fault, as usual. She’d cheered up recently, having found some terrifying new club or another. He knew better than to ask her about it. After all, he was the one who had to share a house with her. Far safer to wait for her to tell him herself.

But this morning's tardiness was definitely her fault. She seemed to feel some sort misplaced sense of ownership regarding his wardrobe, and she had fussed for hours over his coat before even letting him out of the house.

“There you go, brother dearest,” she said, mussing up his hair. “You look positively edible.”

“Morgana!” he protested, pulling his noise-excluding earphones out of his briefcase and draping them round his neck. “I’ll miss my train.”

“Can’t have that, now, can we?” she said, narrowing her eyes in that dangerous way she had. “Why don’t you leave the headphones off for a change? They ruin the effect with your hair. And you never know when you’re going to meet Mr. Right. Although, knowing you, he could hold up a sign saying "RIGHT!" in front of you, and you wouldn't even notice.”

“Morgana!” He frowned at her. As a fellow commuter, albeit on a different route, she should understand the unwritten rules. “You know why I wear these. There are sometimes people on the train, foreigners and small children and the like, who don’t respect the silence necessary for a serene commute. Besides which, since when have you been so invested in my hair?”

Which was when he noticed the time. Stalking to the front door, he pulled on his earphones so he would not have to listen to her reply.

So, what with arriving late and having to get his weekly season ticket, he only just made it through the train doors, nearly landing in the lap of a very surprised looking Santazilla wearing what looked suspiciously like a Christmas tree on his belly. With lights. Green ones. The guy was holding a coffee. Or at least, he had been before Arthur made him lose his balance.

“Sorry!” mouthed Arthur, blinking mournfully at the blooming dark-brown coffee stain that had splashed all over his feet and instantly taken the shine off his beautiful Church’s Oxfords. “Oh, bugger!”

In reply, Santazilla held out a steadying hand and flashed him a sympathetic grin that made his cheeks press up into the narrows of his eyes. Despite himself, Arthur grinned back.

Hmm. A smile like that definitely merited a nine, regardless of sisters and their annoying tendency to make him late for things. 

 

 

 

 

~~~

When the penny finally dropped, he was swigging cappuccino out of his Pendragon Red recycled-plastic commuter mug, one eye on the paper, one eye on seated commuters in the carriage in case someone vacated their place when the train stopped at Idirsholas Junction.

 

 

 

 

**Blond adonis with the noise-excluding headphones on the 7.23, and yes, I do mean you, you numbskull!** You certainly rolled your eyes when I dropped coffee on your posh shoes. They lost their shine, but your smile did not. I asked you out, and you didn't hear me. Headphones, you see. Maybe after that trauma you don't like coffee? Tea? _Guy with jumper in shape of Christmas Tree that lights up (look, this Xmas theme is not my normal attire, I'm just persisting with it in the hope that you're genuinely as thick as two short ones, and aren't ignoring my crush on purpose. What do I have to do to get through to you? Take out a full page spread?)._  
  
---  
  
Arthur peered over the top of his paper, blushing to the tip of his admittedly beautifully styled blond hair. With a self-deprecating chuckle, he looked up over his paper. Met the steady gaze of a pair ocean-blue eyes. Read the message on Santazilla’s jumper. Watched Santazilla gesticulating wildly towards him. And suddenly all Morgana’s recent jibes about him being an oblivious idiot began to make perfect sense.

Gosh. Despite the fact that he didn't have a seat, he thought perhaps that today's commute might be shaping up to be a ten.

Tension ebbed from his chest, replaced by a giddy, reckless joy that made him chuckle out loud and pull off his headphones. All around them silence reigned in the carriage while outside the wheels clattered their relentless way along the tracks.

“Hi,” said Santazilla with a shy smile. “I’m Merlin.”

"Hi," replied Arthur. “Erm - I think maybe I owe you a coffee."

“I think you might owe me quite a few!” Santaz-- Merlin's cheeks eclipsed his eyes when he grinned.

Did Arthur say ten?

Scrub that, more like an eleven.

 

 

 

 

~~~END~~~

 

~~~EPILOG~~~

 

 

 

 

**Blond Headphone Guy and Unseasonable Xmas Jumper Guy on the 7.23 from Camelot to Avalon.** Thank God. We were beginning to think the sexual tension in this carriage was going to kill us all off. But please can you have your daily snog a little more quietly? Some of us are trying to read Rush Hour Crush and your slurping noises are very distracting. Sincerely,  _Your fellow commuters._  
  
  
**Knit-Wit with the ridiculous jumpers and killer cheekbones on the 7.23 from Camelot to Avalon.** I'm sorry it took me five weeks and an entire herd of sheep's worth of novelty knitwear for me to work out you were actually talking about me. The cunning "Yes, I mean you, prat!" design on today's jumper, forthright miming, and of course the kiss finally clued me in. My cold is much better but if the offer still stands I love the smell of menthol and eucalyptus. _Oblivious noise excluder headphone guy with the bunch of apologetic flowers._  
  
---  
  
**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to the super talented La Temperanza for the step-by-step instructions for creating skins. If you're interested in how to create the newspaper effect, see these amazing instructions for creating skins on tumblr here: http://teekettle.tumblr.com/post/124765663544/original-article-live-example-of-skin-my-ao3


End file.
